


Sleepover

by bokutowl



Category: South Park
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, this was going to just be mackin but it turned into bjs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutowl/pseuds/bokutowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their parents didn't question why two eighteen-year-olds still had sleepovers. Kyle and Stan were happy about that, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepover

Stan’s parents and sister weren’t home, and it was a sleepover.

Stan and Kyle figured that it was _interesting_ that their parents just. Didn’t question why two _eighteen_ -year-olds still had sleepovers together. Wasn’t that a thing people grew out of as the got older?

(Then again, their parents had never been _that_ observant.)

They both reckoned that they were ‘adults,’ and that their sleepovers matched their new-dispositions— dispositions of seemingly higher authority, when it really meant that they just couldn’t do as dumb shit without getting in even bigger trouble. They even called them ‘adult sleepovers,’ to which Cartman would give a sneer that it was just an excuse for them to mack on each other “like the gaywads they are,” and Kenny would give a muffled agreement and a waggle of his eyebrows.

Well, it wasn’t like Cartman was _wrong._

The bed creaked and Stan gave a breathless laugh against Kyle’s lips as he nudged the other’s ever-present hat off with his eager fingers, “Dude. We’re making the bed _rock_.” The young man under him closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.

“A-Amazing.” The red head’s cheeks were flushed and his chest was heaving as he opened his eyes in favor of looking up at the other with an exasperated look. “B-Bet you can’t do it again.”

The hint was easy enough, and Stan tugged at Kyle’s thick hair in an attempt to get his lips back on his; neither of them cared that it was getting _hot,_ that less clothes would probably be much better at this point, but they were _way_ too occupied with pressing their lips and hips together in slow, languid succession.

They’ve already mastered the art of pressing their tongues together in efforts to swallow soft moans, any noises of want or _anything_ that would alert their occasionally-present parents that something other than the characters of video games were getting “royally fucked.” But, with parents gone, that left— well, more opportunities.

Stan broke the kiss again to give Kyle a look, grin pulling at his lips, and the other narrowed his hazy eyes. “Geez, the bed didn’t—” The sentence was clipped as Kyle _obviously_ misjudged Stan’s intentions, a hand palming the former’s crotch, earning a sharp gasp.

Because Kyle was _loud,_ and Stan not only knew this, but _thrived_ in every single chance he got to hear it in action— those times only coming around when parents weren’t home, were distracted, or the thought had slipped the two boy’s minds. “Let me— I have something I wanna do.”

Kyle’s lungs had no air in them, so he just gave his (okay, now ‘more than’) best friend a couple sharp nods of wordless consent, thoughts swarming as he tried to think about what the other was planning to do— but then fingers were _unbuttoning_ his pants and Kyle’s eyes flew open and his heart rate sped the fuck up as he leaned up. “Dude, what’re y-you—“

And the grin Stan did pull at that point sent Kyle’s mind for a fucking loop, “I wanna try blowing you.” He said it out _loud,_ fuck, that was embarrassing— even though they were the only ones in the room, the only ones in the entire house. Kyle’s face went as red as his hair, and he didn’t bother saying anything else; he knew it would come out garbled because Stan didn’t even bother any more words either. He was tugging Kyle’s pants down only to the knees because of obvious impatience, the light green boxers soon meeting them as he yanked those down too. For a moment Stan wondered if he should slow down, make a comment about it being the first time he’s seen Kyle’s dick since they became… whatever they were then.

(This was far from the first time Stan had _ever_ seen Kyle’s dick, of course— the ‘super best friends’ hadn’t really hidden much over the years.)

In any case, he decided to not say a word, instead to carefully wrap his fingers around Kyle, earning the first bits of the prize he was waiting for— a light, breathless moan. And it was a motivator if anything, leading him to shift himself down until he could give the tip the shortest of licks, eyes staring up to gauge those reactions he was waiting for.

One of Kyle’s hands were twisted in the bedsheets while the other one was getting bit by his teeth in an attempt to keep the shuddering breath that threatened to spill out from doing so. But that was the obvious _opposite_ of what Stan wanted in every sense of the word, and he frowned slightly before deciding— well, fuck going slow about this.

And he wrapped his lips around the other’s dick and slid down as far as his throat could take him as quickly and suddenly as he could, relishing in the loud gasp— of “ _F-Fuck,_ St-stan…”— that seemed to echo in his brain and hopefully his memory too. Stan bobbed his head slightly, sliding all the way up until only the tip was in his mouth until repeating the sharp action he had before, and the reaction this time was instant; another loud moan, and the hand Kyle had been _trying_ to bite had gone to thread in Stan’s hair.

(He’d grin if he could, but his best friend’s dick was currently in his mouth and grinning wasn’t really possible.)

It became almost clockwork, Stan going up and down as Kyle attempted to thrust his hips up— at this point, Stan had to keep a hand on Kyle’s hips to keep from _choking_ — writhed when he couldn’t, and moaned out strangled words and occasional curses surrounded by Stan’s name like he was being tortured.

It kind of w _as_ torture, an extremely pleasurable torture, one that made Kyle want to imprint the feeling of Stan’s wet mouth and hot fingers and nearly disgustingly arousing sucking sounds into his mind until the end of time. He took a chance and cracked his eyes open and he really did goddamn lose it, a whine leaving his lips that sounded eerily like a choked sob as he _watched_ his spit-laced dick disappear past Stan’s mouth— and Kyle stumbled out the weakest attempt at a warning imaginable, “St-Stan, I f-fe—“ before he came, hard, his hips pushing upwards and back arching off the creaking bed with a shuddering moan of more curses, random words probably, and Stan’s name.

The atmosphere was only silent for maybe twenty seconds at most until Stan leaned up to sit on his ankles, giving a wipe of his mouth and a lick of his fingers before rasping slightly, “Geez, dude, there was a lot. Do you jack off at all?” And Kyle _would_ have glared if he didn’t feel like his limbs had been replaced with jello and he _would_ have said something if he didn’t feel like his voice box was shot. So, he settled for closing his eyes and heaving a large breath. “I must have done it right, didn’t I? The bed was creak—“

“Dude.” Okay, maybe his voice could spare a couple more words. Just a couple. “Shut _up._ ”

It was another hint for Stan to take, and he fell to lay next to his _super_ best friend, letting the silence envelop them again. Until—

“...My house is gonna be empty _all_  weekend."

 And it was only Friday night.

**Author's Note:**

> reffie has no shame 2k14
> 
> (andry told me to write makeouts for them. i wrote blowjobs. i DIRECTLY DISOBEYED)


End file.
